


Trophy Scars

by botanicalTJ



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alexis | Quackity Needs a Hug, Alexis | Quackity-centric, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blaze Hybrid Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Blood and Injury, Butcher Army, Canon Gay Relationship, Canon-Typical Violence, Dream Smp, Duck Hybrid Alexis | Quackity, Hurt/Comfort, Karlnapity, M/M, Major Character Injury, Mentioned Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Mentioned Floris | Fundy, Mentioned Jschlatt (Video Blogging RPF), Mentioned Ranboo (Video Blogging RPF), Mentioned Toby Smith | Tubbo, No Smut, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, PVP, Past Abuse, Pig Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Polyamorous Character, Polyamory, Scars, Trauma, Wings, Wound Tending, cursing, mlm, multichapter fic, sorta - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-23
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-13 11:35:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29650734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/botanicalTJ/pseuds/botanicalTJ
Summary: "I'll put it through your teeth." Technoblade's voice crackled like gravel in his ears, joining the sound of the pickaxe's blunt end striking against the elbow shielding his face. "I'll put it through your teeth, Quackity.""You have done so much fucking damage to everything we've been building, all a-fucking-long, Techno." They swung at the same time, weapons clanging loud enough to ring painfully against his eardrums. "And if there's one PvP that I'm planning to win, it's this one, baby."---a retelling of events, with an emphasis on the fiancés.
Relationships: Alexis | Quackity & Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Alexis | Quackity/Karl Jacobs, Alexis | Quackity/Karl Jacobs/Sapnap, Alexis | Quackity/Sapnap, Karl Jacobs/Sapnap
Comments: 17
Kudos: 218





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> content warnings for this chapter// major depiction of canon violence, graphic description of blood and injury, cursing

"Fuck you." Quackity's fist tightened around the handle of his axe, feet pounding on cave stairs as he chased Technoblade through the carved out tunnel. He kicked stones aside to avoid tripping on them, but skidded every few feet anyways. He couldn't take his eyes off the armored swine with an obsidian-crested pickaxe in his hand, glittering in the torchlight beaming off the walls. "Fuck you!" he spat again, swinging his own weapon as soon as he was within arm's reach. The blade struck armor and slid across to slice open the flesh at the base of Technoblade's neck, blood splattering on Quackity's own apron.

"Now you have to use potions, motherfucker," he sneered, raising his voice to be heard over rumbling chants of "get out of here, get out of here," and the sound of his axe hitting iron. He dodged the pickaxe swinging towards him, dancing around Technoblade with enough safe distance to tease. 

"I have a pickaxe," Technoblade growled, raising it up with one arm. Quackity might have snatched the weapon if it wasn't so far above his own head, but instead he ducked as the tip of it came swinging down. It grazed his shoulder, missing the rest of him by fewer centimeters than he would have liked.

"No, you don't," he taunted anyways, hand darting out to grab for the pickaxe every time it swung in his direction. He struck the other's armor again with no aim in mind, landing shallow hits every time a square of exposed flesh crossed the path of his axe's blade. He'd never been a good fighter, never claimed the ability to wield a sword or an axe the way Sapnap did in PvP. But he could swing a weapon and he could talk shit as well as anybody, and that was usually enough to invoke a rage blinding enough to give him a way out. 

"I'll put it through your teeth." Technoblade's voice crackled like gravel in his ears, joining the sound of the pickaxe's blunt end striking against the elbow shielding his face. "I'll put it through your teeth, Quackity."

"You have done so much fucking damage to everything we've been building, all a- _fucking_ -long, Techno." They swung at the same time, weapons clanging loud enough to ring painfully against his eardrums. "And if there's one PvP that I'm planning to win, it's this one, baby." The handles of their weapons slam together in perpendicular form, giving enough leverage to shove with as much force as possible. They stood in a deadlock for just a moment, Quackity's arms shaking with the strength he didn't have to push the 6'3" pig backwards. "So don't even fucking try me!" 

Technoblade grunted low in his throat and threw his body into a shove, effectively knocking Quackity onto the ground with his axe still in his hands. The two-handed weapon slammed against his chest, knocking the wind out of him. He wheezed as he shuffled backwards, the bottoms of his sneakers skidding on the stone floor as he worked to give himself enough distance to stand with his weapon in hand. "C'mon, let's go, let's go." He swung his axe at Technoblade's knees, using the movement to stand in one sweeping motion. 

Technoblade knocked the weapon aside before it could come in contact with his armor, swinging the pickaxe back around to send the blunt end into Quackity's ribs. The force of it threw him off his feet again, his shoulder slamming against the rock wall with a sickening crack that shot pain down his entire arm. He fell to his knees, axe finally clattering across the floor. Technoblade stepped forward, casting a massive shadow that barely let Quackity see the tip of the pickaxe glinting in the cavelight. "My aim is so bad," came a low chuckle, the pickaxe hovering like the sharp edge of the anvil the pig had just escaped from. 

"Fuck you," Quackity spoke, weak-voiced in the sudden overwhelming rush of fear that flooded his system. He was unarmed and cornered with a weapon raised above his head, an easy path for the sharp tip to travel right into his skull. "Yeah, _yeah_ , I know it is." He closed his eyes in time to hear the whistle of metal flying through the air, and then the sharpest pain he'd ever felt exploded across his face in a blast that took his consciousness with it.

* * *

  
"...Ranboo, I expect you to get, uh, get a nice apron like us, right?" 

Fundy's voice faded into static, mingling with the drips of water falling from the low ceilings onto the cave floor. Quackity couldn't feel his feet on the ground anymore, his grip on Tubbo's diamond axe loosening until it slipped from his hand altogether. It never hit the floor. He opened his eyes.

A drop of water from the ceiling splashed in the middle of his forehead. It was freezing cold, even colder than it usually was that deep in the caves. Or maybe it was his skin that was warmer than usual; as he lay there, staring up at the stalactites and waiting for the stars to clear from his vision, he could feel something hot and wet trickling along the lines of his face and soaking the neck of his jacket. 

There was not a part of his body that did not hurt, but nothing felt quite as injured as his pride. Even his face, which felt like an earthquake had erupted under its surface. Even his ribs, his joints, all the bones in his body that had come into contact with hard rock and blunt force metal. Even his lungs, which felt full of hot ash every time he took a breath. Nothing made him feel like tucking his tail between his legs like the not-quite-distant memory of Technoblade standing over his cowering form, bringing the pickaxe down upon his face and thrusting him into blackness.

He'd lost a life to a goddamn pig.

"Fundy?" Quackity's voice sounded dry, brittle with lack of use, and he wondered how long he'd been here. The cave ceiling wasn't spinning quite so much anymore, but there was a thick blur in half of his vision that looked like he had a potion bottle held up to one eye. Fundy had been here, hadn't he? And he'd been talking to Ranboo, and Tubbo before that, and they were making a plan to kill Dream after Technoblade-...

Technoblade. Where the fuck had he gone? The burst of adrenaline behind that realization made him sit straight up, a move he regretted instantly. If he'd been able to see his own face right now, he was sure it would be turning green amongst the rainbow of other nasty colors that were undoubtedly staining his injured skin. He fell back again, catching himself on his elbows so he could hover above the ground and make his next moves slow enough for his head to catch up. He nearly grimaced, but even wrinkling his brow sent bolts of pain through his face. He could see the blood dripping from his chin now, could taste it on his lips and see it on the ends of his lashes when he blinked, could feel it soaking into his clothes and making the fabric stick hot against his skin. No wonder he was fucking dizzy; wherever Technoblade went, he didn't leave before splitting Quackity's face in half and looting everything he had in his pockets. His axe was gone, his armor, all the food that Karl had packed for him in preparation for the trading he was supposed to leave for immediately after today's events. His pockets were empty. The cave was empty. Had anyone been there in the first place, or had he been alone this whole time?

It couldn't have been long. The blood was still gushing from his face (and in a few other places, but he could hardly check himself over for minor injuries right now) and his fingers felt sticky when he gingerly touched the underside of his jaw where the blood had run down to his neck. He was no medic, couldn't even do stitches on the battlefield, but even he knew that if he'd really been bleeding _that_ long, he wouldn't be awake right now. He would've laid on that cave floor until someone found him, one of the Butcher Army members coming to see what was taking him so long. Or worse, one of his fiancés coming after him once they caught wind that he had gone into the cave and hadn't come back out.

But none of that had happened. No one was here. He wasn't dead, not fully, and that meant he was fine. A moment to let his body and his brain sync up, and he could get on with the rest of his day.

"Fuck you," he mumbled to nobody, pressing a shaking hand to the back of his head. If he had nothing else to be grateful for besides his life, Technoblade had at least given him the mercy of leaving his beanie intact upon his head. "Goddamn pig wouldn't look sexy in it anyways," he half-slurred, partly because it hurt to move his mouth and partly because he was suddenly so, so tired. He wished he was at home, curled up between Sapnap and Karl in bed, napping the day away until someone woke up hungry or bored. Home with his face still in one piece.

Technoblade had said he would put the pickaxe between his teeth, but based on what he could tell, Quackity's entire face had been slashed with the pointy end of the weapon. From his forehead to his chin, dragging across his eye and splitting his lip. It hurt too bad for his fingers to even be within an inch of it, like his skin was already anticipating how much pain he would cause by touching the fresh wound. But he could tell it was bad, easily the worst injury he'd ever gotten, definitely the most visible. 

Maybe he'd get lucky and it wouldn't scar. Maybe. But he couldn't think about that now. He had shit to do and places to be. He ran his tongue along his teeth (they had stayed in their sockets, thankfully, but a few of them were definitely much more crooked than they'd been this morning) and pushed himself back up into a sitting position, taking it slowly but forcing himself not to lean back again when the dizziness made his eyes cross. He could do this, he could get up and get out of this goddamn cave. He was fine. 

The pool of blood on the floor where he'd sat looked much bigger from a standing position than it had when he'd been laying in it. He tore his eyes away from it quickly, not wanting to entertain the sick feeling it gave him to think about how all that blood was in his body not too long ago. He walked slow, mostly shuffling his feet and grabbing at the walls for balance. His chest felt like he had to cough, but he swallowed it down as much as he could until the feeling went away. A cough or two in his current state might just take him out completely. 

The sun was too goddamn bright even just within sight of the cave's entrance. He mumbled another curse, because his sunglasses weren't in his pocket and it was no question as to where they'd gone. Fucking pig. Instead, he raised an arm to shield his eyes as well as his face, not wanting to draw anyone's attention as he stepped into the sunlight. He was fine. No one needed to know about this, not Fundy or Ranboo or Tubbo, especially not his fiancés who expected him to leave for trading immediately after his little "errand" today anyways. And lucky him: the area was completely empty. God only knew where Technoblade had gone, but he didn't give a fuck at this point.

Boner was tied to a fence post close by, where Quackity had left him that morning before the execution-gone-wrong. Something had told him he should prepare for a quick and easy escape, and turns out, his intuition had saved his ass. He didn't even want to think about what Sapnap and Karl would do if they saw him like this, let alone happened upon him sneaking home just to get his horse and leave. They worried too much. He was fine. He just needed to get out of here.

It was more of a struggle than usual getting on the horse. It tended to take a decent amount of effort on a normal day, since he was of smaller stature than most people who traveled regularly on horseback. But he had little to no energy to climb up to the saddle with, and Boner was skittish after one look at his face. Quackity couldn't blame him; he didn't want to see the damage either, not yet while it was still fresh. The blood seemed to be slowing down, it wasn't actively gushing down his face anymore, but he'd lost enough of it that once he finally secured himself on the back of his horse, he slumped forward in dead exhaustion with nothing left in him to navigate with.

Oh, well. Boner was a smart horse, he could figure out the way. And if he didn't... Future Quackity could deal with that. Technoblade and Dream and the Butcher Army could wait until he got back; for now, he had an errand to run, and his horse's skeletal frame was more comfortable than usual. He leaned forward, wrapped his arms around Boner's neck, and closed his eyes.

He was fine.

Wasn't he?


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warnings for this chapter// graphic description of blood and injury, mention of past abuse, cursing

"Did he take a raincoat or anything with him?" Sapnap's fingertips drummed against the windowpane, the cold seeping into his skin just bordering the edge of discomfort. The rain was pouring down in rapid thrumming against the hard ground, the looming threat of a full-fledged storm creeping up on the grey horizon. Storms had always unsettled him, made it harder to avoid the allergy-like reaction that water submersion triggered in his blaze DNA. He didn't like the thought of Quackity being out in it unprotected.

He turned to glance at Karl when he didn't get an immediate answer, locking eyes with his fiancé. Karl had his legs propped up on the sofa, a book balancing on his knees with a quill pen sticking out the top. His brow was slightly furrowed, eyes focused somewhere right through Sapnap's gaze. "I think so," he said finally, closing his book with a soft thud. He set it aside and swung his legs off the cushions, standing to join Sapnap at the window. "He'll be okay. He's gone on longer trips before."

"Guess I thought he'd come home before setting off," Sapnap frowned, letting Karl take his hand from the glass. Slender fingers kneaded his skin, gently trying to press the warmth back into them. Not that he needed the help, a point proven as his palm began to radiate heat on its own, but the sentiment was nice. 

He still had a sinking feeling in his gut, though. It was probably just nerves; the three of them were far too accident-prone, always wrapped up in the growing tension of the server and its interpersonal relationships. That's all it was, most likely: just a distant longing to have both of his fiancés home, where he knew they'd be safe from any potential harm. 

"Someone would've told us if something was wrong," Karl reasoned, following him into the kitchen. Sapnap lit the stove beneath a pan of water, beginning the preparations for a batch of hot coffee. He didn't like coffee, but Karl would probably drink it, and it gave him something to busy his hands with. "No news is good news, y'know?"

Quackity had told them both before he left that morning that he had some presidential cabinet business to attend to before he left for his trading trip. They were no stranger to their fiancé's schemes, and the wink he gave them pretty much confirmed that it was business he couldn't elaborate on. All the more reason to be nervous when he didn't return home right after.

But Karl was right. If Quackity had duties to L'manberg that day, then there were others who knew about it on a much deeper level than any non-Cabinet residents did. If anything had happened for them to worry about, someone would have alerted them way earlier. At least, he hoped they would.

"You want milk for this?" Sapnap stepped aside so Karl could see him dump coffee grounds into the boiling water. He didn't want to linger on it anymore, the vague possibility of something being wrong. He'd push his worry aside, tuck it away in his chest for safekeeping until he needed it again. Until something ripped it from its spot nestled right up against his heart. 

* * *

It was raining. 

Quackity usually loved the rain. Of course he did; he was half duck, rain was basically his natural environment. Even his wings were water-resistant, feathers genetically designed for droplets to roll right off. It was like having an umbrella built into his back, which made it even weirder that he was soaking wet right now. He should've worn something that made it possible to spread his wings. His fiancés would appreciate the shield from the bad weather, especially Sapnap, he never did well in the rain for very long-

A loud crack of thunder snapped his eyes open. 

Sapnap and Karl weren't there. It was just him and Boner, who trotted faster in time with the rain beating against his body. Lightning illuminated the dark sky over the mountains, making it hard to tell what time of day it even was. Recollection rushed into his head as fast as the pain blooming across his face, suddenly and with enough force to nearly knock him off his horse entirely. His arms tightened around Boner's neck, head spinning with the sharpness of his breath. "Fuck, dude," he groaned to nobody, bringing a hand up to tug his soaked beanie secure over his head. He flinched as his palm brushed up against the split in his forehead, hand coming back sticky with blood. 

He didn't even know where they were... or where they were going, for that matter. In his fatigue, he couldn't remember the exact village he was supposed to be trading with, or what direction it was in. He'd probably only been out for a few hours, but it was clear that this trip was not going to end with an exchange of goods. He hadn't dug through his pockets to check yet, but he wasn't even certain that Technoblade hadn't taken all the emeralds he'd gathered from his chest that morning. If that were the case, this entire trip was for nothing, unless he wanted to fashion a pickaxe with his bare hands and mine into the earth for the slight chance of an emerald or two. 

No sense in pretending he wouldn't pass out before he even finished crafting the tools. He needed to turn back. 

The storm was one step ahead of him, not in his favor. Another crack of thunder boomed loud enough overhead to make him pitch forward with his hands pressed over his ears. He rarely minded storms, even enjoyed them when he was in better health, but he was exhausted and in pain and so very alone. He wasn't _afraid_ , of course he wasn't, but the sky was getting darker by the moment and the mobs would be spawning soon. He had to find shelter.

"Boner, go right," he mumbled, tugging the reins to the left. The horse seemed to understand his mistake; he gave a soft snort and trotted to the right, taking them further into the mountainside. In any other situation, Quackity could've built them a sturdy enough shelter, even without tools on hand. But he'd be lucky to get a proper fire going as shitty as he felt right now. A cave would have to suffice for the night.

He led the horse silently, keeping his eyes forward to avoid looking down at the river that roared in the canyon between the mountains. He didn't usually care about heights, but he already felt like the world was tilting around him every time he moved his head too fast. It was damn near soothing when they were finally under the overhead protection of gravel and stone. He dug his heel into the horse's side, then carefully slid off, still gripping the lead as he lowered himself to sit on hard ground. 

Finally. Darkness crept around him with its chilled fingertips brushing against his skin, sharpening his senses and allowing him a moment to evaluate. His face had taken the worst of it, he was certain; the rain had seeped into the wound despite his efforts to keep his head down, and blood was once again trickling steadily towards his collar. His eye throbbed along with his pulse, vision reduced to a hazy blur. His ribcage felt too tight around his lungs and his shoulder ached like a _bitch_. But the near-worst of it, almost as bad as his face, was how his wings felt.

During his days of vice presidency, he'd kept them hidden, even in the privacy of his own quarters. Because privacy in the White House had proved as rare as his running mate's affections were in those last few months, hadn't it? Few moments of peace, constant walking on his toes, no lock that the strength of a ram's horns could not break. And mercy be unto thousands if he'd let the wings slip, allowed them to spread in all their glory across his back for more than a few moments, long enough for Schlatt to be reminded that they exist. So he'd kept them bound with wraps of leather around his torso for hours, days, weeks at a time. Sometimes his ribs still ached, even though no one had forced him into such a gruesome state of secrecy since Schlatt had gone to rest six feet under.

He'd tucked them beneath his shirt when he got dressed earlier that day; not strapped down, not folded uncomfortably, just pressed against his back with his clothes worn over. Quackity unzipped his jacket and let it fall from his shoulders, craning his neck to squint down at his back. He could see the outline of his wings against the fabric of his shirt, stuck out at an awkward angle that made his stomach flip to look at. He didn't have to examine any closer to feel that it was worse than a little sprain; the rain had already chilled, leaving hot blood to drip down his back.

He stiffly reached behind him, wanting to pull his shirt off as well, but the sharp pain that struck his shoulder ripped a cry from his throat. He froze, his good arm flying to grab his bad one like he could heal it by digging his nails into his skin. It probably wasn't broken, since he could move it enough to unknowingly test the theory, but the white-hot bolts of pain shooting down his arm made him wanna puke. As soon as he could release the iron grip on his own bicep, he leaned forward to rest his head between his knees, letting the colder air closer to the ground fill his lungs and settle his nerves.

He was so fucked. So, so fucked. He needed medical attention, he needed food, he needed to get back to L'manberg. Trade be damned, he didn't even know if he'd be able to protect himself from mobs through the night. It was stupid to think he could carry on with his plans after taking a beating like that, but it was even more stupid that he'd managed to hole himself up in a cave all alone until daybreak. He couldn't even whip up a healing potion, couldn't even set his broken wings in a position that didn't come with stabbing pain and blood-soaked feathers. He was utterly defenseless to his own injuries, and subsequently, anything else that posed as a threat before he was safe at home. 

He wanted Sapnap. He wanted Karl. Pride be damned, he wanted a hot bath and a spot in bed between his fiancés. Exhaustion had crept into his bones and sponged up all the adrenaline from the day, leaving his energy to shrivel up and dry out. With his entire body throbbing with pain, he leaned up against the cave wall and closed his eyes, taking deep, shuddering breaths until the fog in his head finally swallowed him whole. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter will finally have some proper Karlnapity, all in the same room together :) hope you enjoyed this one.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading! i'm quite excited about this piece and am pleased to be making my writing debut in the DSMP fandom.
> 
> comments and kudos are highly appreciated! be kind to yourselves :]


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